


First Meeting. Jack's POV.

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Locked Out [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: What it says on the tin: The first meeting ofLocked Outfrom Jack's point of view.





	First Meeting. Jack's POV.

The pavement under Jack’s feet thumped steadily as he matched his breathing to the rhythm.

He was moving easily, not pushing the pace, just focusing on his body and the way it felt. It was warm for May, and sweat was trickling down his torso and pooling at the waistband of his shorts. The band of the plain snapback he wore was damp from keeping the perspiration out of his eyes.

He scanned his surroundings -- only a mile and a half left, and almost no one out on foot at this time of day. Most people were at work or school now. It was easier to run in the middle of the day when he could, because there weren’t so many joggers out doing double-takes when they recognized him. Drivers barely saw pedestrians. Which was its own problem.

Jack looked to make sure no one was trying to pull out of the public parking lot, and started to cross the driveway before his glance caught on someone sitting at the edge of one of the little islands that had flowers and a tree.

The person -- a boy? or young man? -- had his head in his hands, so Jack couldn’t see his face, but he was dressed neatly in a long-sleeved button-down shirt, gray trousers and shiny black leather shoes. While Jack watched, his shoulders heaved once.

There really didn’t seem to be anyone else around just now, so Jack jogged into the lot and stopped in front of the … young man. Younger than Jack, but not like a high-school kid. College kid?

“Euh … are you okay?”

Jack felt a little dumb. It wasn’t like he could do much. He had his phone and keys in the inner pocket of his shorts, but he didn’t have his wallet or any money.

The kid looked up, and Jack saw big brown eyes under blond hair. The eyes were wet, like maybe he had been crying, or trying not to. His face was a little red, too, but when he bit his lip, Jack couldn’t help thinking he was … cute. 

Especially with the red bow tie that Jack didn’t see until the kid looked up.

“‘I’m fine,” he said, and looked back down.

“You seem pretty upset,” Jack said. “What happened?”

The kid -- young man -- looked up again, all the way to Jack’s face this time, and sighed.

“If you must know, I locked the keys to the car in the trunk,” he said, glaring at the small black car in the next parking spot. “It’s not even my car. It’s my friend’s, and she’s out of town until the weekend, and I don’t know if there are extra keys anywhere, but I couldn’t get them even if I did.”

Lost keys -- or, rather, inaccessible keys -- didn’t seem that big of a problem.

“Can you call her?” Jack asked.

“Phone’s in my messenger bag with the keys,” the young man said. “It was such a good day, too. I came down for an interview for an internship, and I thought I had a really good chance, and I was so happy –- until I closed the trunk and realized the doors were still locked.”

That was more words that Jack expected, but they helped him understand why the guy was upset. Jack knew what it was like to feel on top of the world only to come crashing down.

“Do you know your friend’s number?” Jack asked. “You could use my phone.”

“No,” the guy said. “I mean, I do know her number, but she’s in interviews all day in New York. I can’t distract her.”

He knew her number, and her schedule, so this was someone close. Someone who was planning to move to New York. Maybe a girlfriend? 

“Long-distance relationships are tough,” Jack said.

“No, it’s not like that,” the guy said. “We go to school together in Massachusetts, and I’ll miss her when she starts grad school somewhere else in the fall because she’s one of my best friends, but not like that.”

Jack felt something loosen in his chest. At least the guy wouldn’t be having his partner move away too. And surely Jack could find a way to help even without his wallet.

“Locksmith?” he suggested.

“Don’t they charge like $50 just to open the door? I haven’t got that much on me,” the guy said. “But I could put it on my emergency credit card if I have to, I guess.”

Fifty dollars … if all problems could be solved by $50, Jack’s life would be much easier. But it would probably be rude to say so.

“I think motor clubs do lockouts,” he said instead.

“Not my car,” they guy said. “If I don’t have a car, why would I have a motor club membership?”

“Maybe you don’t, but I do,” Jack said. “How about I call for you?”

“But it’s not your car,” the guy said.

“I can reimburse them for the service,” Jack said, even though it would probably end up costing more than $50.

“But that’s not fair,” the guy said.

Was he trying to stop Jack from helping him? Did he just want Jack to go away? Probably not. He hadn’t tried to walk away, or asked Jack to leave. And it didn’t look like he wanted to cry anymore.

Jack thought the guy had just blown his problem up so much in his head that he was having a hard time seeing around it. That was another feeling Jack could admit knowing all too well.

Then the guy looked up at Jack, almost smiling. It made Jack want to smile back.

“I could make you a pie to pay you back,” the guy said.

Jack didn’t usually eat dessert, but shooting the idea down seemed like it would be counterproductive. And it was nice of him to offer. Nice, too, that he seemed ready to work with Jack instead of against him.

“We can work that out later,” Jack said. “Let’s just solve your problem first.”

Jack pulled out his phone and half-turned away from the guy while he found the contact for the motor club. “This is Jack Zimmermann,” he said. “I need someone to come out and unlock my friend’s car. He locked his keys in the trunk.”

The woman at the other end explained that services were for members only.

“I am a member,” he said. “And I can cover the cost. My friend just needs some help getting on the road. Really. I’ll buy him a membership if that would help.”

The woman finally agreed to send someone out, and have the bill sent to Jack. “Add $20 as a tip,” Jack said. “And make sure whoever comes out gets it.”

Jack put the phone back in his pocket.

“Somebody should be here in a half-hour or so,” he said. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Um, Eric,” the guy said. “Eric Bittle. I meant it about that pie, if you tell me where to send it.”

Sending pie didn’t seem like a good idea. Besides, Jack found that he liked Eric Bittle, at least so far. His face was warm and kind, and Jack found it easy to read his expressions. 

“I was hoping maybe you’d bring it,” Jack said. “Or we could meet somewhere? If you don’t want to come to my place. But you’re welcome. To come to my place, I mean. I wasn’t fishing for a thank you.”

“Maybe not, but I owe you thanks,” Eric said. “Along with the pie. And, um, I know who you are? So I’m okay going to yours. If you don’t mind.”

Well, crap. Had Eric known who he was all along? Or had he overheard Jack on the phone? If he knew all along, he hadn’t let on. Was he going to get all awkward now? 

Jack looked at the tree behind Eric, waiting for Eric to turn into a fan — to ask for an autograph, or gush about his play, or compare him to his father. He was probably too young for that, actually. He couldn’t ask for a selfie. His phone was in the trunk. But if he asked, Jack knew he would do it. It would probably make Eric smile again, the way he smiled when he talked about pie.

Eric was talking again.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner,” Eric said. “I mean, I’ve seen you play enough. On TV, I mean. But the boys tend to be more Falconers fans that Bruins fans, because, well, Bruins.”

At least Eric wasn’t a Bruins fan. That was good.

“I never really watched much hockey on TV until I got to Samwell,” Eric continued. “I mean, I played, of course, but it wasn’t on television much, and when it was, Coach was usually watching football or baseball or something.”

He paused for breath.

“You go to Samwell?” Jack asked. “My mother went there.”

“Yeah,” Eric said, smiling again. “It’s really pretty. Have you ever visited?”

Jack wanted to say yes, to find something in common, but when Maman suggested college after his overdose, talked about how Samwell had grounded her and helped her find lifelong friends, he’d slammed the door in her face. Literally. 

Jack shook his head. “Not that I remember,” he said. “I mean, maybe when I was really little? But by the time I was in high school I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to college, so I never really looked anywhere.”

Then something clicked for Jack. Eric was small — maybe 5’6”, 135 or so — and entirely too, well, sweet to play hockey at a high level. But he did look fit. Maybe he played in high school, or in a rec league? It didn’t matter. Hockey players were Jack’s favorite fans, because they understood at least a little bit about what it was like.

“Wait, you played hockey?” 

“Not played, play,” Eric said. “I’m at Samwell on a hockey scholarship.”

That was … not what Jack expected.

“Wait -- Samwell’s D-1, isn’t it?” Jack said. Now Eric looked mildly put out. Which was still better than crying over his car keys, but still. “You must be good.”

“To play when I’m so small?” Eric said, making a face. “I am fast. And I’ve gotten better since I’ve been there.”

“You should improve every season if you can,” Jack said.

“Well, I had lots of room for improvement,” Eric said. “It was a huge difference, playing in a Georgia rec league to playing in the NCAA.”

So rec league wasn’t that far off. But to go from that to a D-1 team — some of Jack’s teammates and NHL rivals came from those teams.

“You went from a rec league to Samwell?” Jack said. “That’s unheard of.”

“And yet I did,” Eric said. He took a deep breath, blew it out his nose and then smiled at Jack. He shrugged and said, “I’m honestly not sure what the coaches saw in me, but I’m glad they did.”

Then the motor club truck pulled up.

“Hi,” Jack said. “My friend, Eric, here locked his keys in the trunk. Can you get them out?”

“Should be able to, Mr. Zimmermann,” the driver said. “Calls usually have to be for members, but the dispatcher said this would be covered. This car?”

The man opened one of the compartments on his truck to get some tools, then went to work wedging something in the door and using a long wire to try to open the lock. It only took a few minutes before the trunk lid popped open.

Eric dove for the opening to pull out his bag.

“Thank you so much,” Eric said.

Jack shook the motor club guy’s hand and apologized for not being able to give him a cash tip. 

“That’s alright,” the motor club man said. “Can you sign this for me **?”**

Jack half expected a hockey puck or T-shirt to thrust at him, but it was only the clipboard with the receipt. And he was pretty sure the guy — and Eric — had noticed his first reaction.

“If you want me to sign something else --” Jack said, getting a wide smile from Motor Club Guy and a smirk from Eric.

“Would you?” the man said. “My niece is really a fan.”

“Really?” Jack said. “You have a card or anything?”

Jack signed the back of a card, and took another one. He could have his agent send something for the guy’s niece.

Eric was twirling the keys around his finger when Jack turned back to him.

“I have Lardo’s car until Friday, if you want me to bring you that pie. Tomorrow afternoon, if you want.”

“I can do that,” Jack said. “What’s your phone number? I can text you my address.”

“Here,” Eric said, handing Jack his phone with a contact window open. “Just add your number there and text yourself. What’s your favorite pie?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t really know,” he said. “Apple?”

“Apple it is,” Eric said.


End file.
